What they couldn't teach
by Crazy4Moony
Summary: When Matt had been younger, he'd always wondered what love was like. All three of his fathers try to explain--but only L can explain in a way he understands, and only Mello can show him that it's real.


What they couldn't teach.

When Matt had been younger, he'd always wondered what love was like. What it _felt_ like. He knew fatherly love—yes, they were orphans, but they had three fathers, all as different as the next—but not about true love.

There was Watari, who was the eldest father, sweet and gentle and always caring for them when they needed him. He was the kind of father that came to your room in the middle of the night just because he _knew_ you were having a bad dream. He was the dad that let you dip your finger in the cookie-dough and fixed your goggles when they were crocked on your face. He was about the fun-loving that fathers were. About making the small time they had worth it. He was the one that taught Matt how to make a bag to collect your Halloween candy in—the one who taught him how to make a costume, and how to _hug_, really.

Roger was second-oldest, and when Watari and L were gone, he took care of business. He was the one that tried to learn you discipline, but only for your own good. Roger was the father that scolded at you for tracking mud into the house, but who would smile apologetically and pet your head afterwards. He wasn't about the practical part of learning, but about the rules that should be known. The things that made sense. He was the one that taught Matt not to pinch others, and not to play football inside the house. He was also the one that taught Matt how to be _sorry_.

L was the youngest father—he came closer to a big brother, at some times. He was the father that always made you worry and then came back smiling with presents in his pockets. He told them about advanced physics, but also about the flowers, and the honey and nature. He took them outside and talked about his adventures—he taught Matt to play Mario without losing much lives, told him the secret passage-ways, and—even though this was something Watari would usually fix—he was always the one to kiss your booboo's away. He taught Matt what it was like to _miss_ people, so terribly it hurt deep inside your heart.

--

When Matt had been younger, he'd always wondered what love was like. What it _felt_ like. He asked the first father—Watari, who should know all about love.

Watari explained that love was unexplainable. He said love was caring for each other, but not quite in the way they cared for each other—true love was more then that. It was never wanting to be apart, or see the other hurt. Then he resumed baking cookies, after he'd let Matt dip his finger in the batter.

Matt didn't understand. He cared for Watari, Roger and L, and never wanted them to be away from him. He didn't want them to hurt either. What made true love so special, if not that?

He tracked mud inside to get Roger's attention. After Roger had given him a good scolding, Matt asked him too, _"What is love?"_ Roger should know. He'd been in love with Watari for a long time. Roger said he thought love was endless. Love never stopped, even when the other was gone. He patted Matt's red head and continued mopping up his dirty footsteps.

Matt still didn't understand. He loved Watari and Roger and L, even when they weren't there. Was he in love with all three of them? How could that be?

When Matt found L, he was on the couch, spread out completely, and playing a video-game on Matt's gameboy. When Matt asked L what true love was, L smiled and picked him up from the floor, putting his small body in his own lap. L said that true love was a _moment_. When Matt frowned, L put their hands against each other—Matt's small hand drowning against L's. He said: "Love is the moment when it's so silent, but the touch is just as loud," he pressed his hand harder against Matt, and Matt pushed back, smiling. "When the hand against yours melts with your own," their fingers wove together, gripping on as tight as before. "When the breath against your skin warms like your own," he breathed softly against Matt's hand. "It's the noise you make when being perfectly quiet."

Matt nodded, and he finally understood. Though it wasn't because of L's words—but because of the gestures accompanied with them. L smiled too, and Matt flopped off his lap, and they played a videogame together.

--

When Matt had been younger, he'd always wondered what love was like. What it _felt_ like. Now that he was older, he could not only remember L's gestures, but also understand his words.

There is not a word, and Matt carefully feels against the coppery skin, revelling in the feeling. And the touch of his fingers against the body is as loud as breaking glass.

"_Love is the moment when it's so silent, but the touch is just as loud,"_

They move tenderly, hands pressed together, in perfect bliss, not willing to let go. And they're so close; Matt can't even distinguish his hand from the smaller, thinner one.

"_When the hand against yours melts with your own,"_

The form underneath him is sweating and biting his lip, panting against Matt's shoulder as he moves in all the right ways. It's so perfect and their breath mingles, and their lips are but a second away, too close, as they breathe each other's air.

"_When the breath against your skin warms like your own,"_

Matt kisses the other's temple, and drops down next to the worn out body. They don't talk and the room is silent, even as the other falls asleep soon after. Matt understands when he wipes the blonde hair away, and looks at the beautiful face. Not a sound, but it's still there.

"_It's the noise you make when being perfectly quiet."_

--

When Matt had been younger, he'd always wondered what love was like. What it _felt_ like. Now that he knew, he couldn't be happier. And every time someone dared to ask him why he loved Mello so much, he said the exact same thing:

"Because he's the moment when it's so silent but the touch is just as loud. When his hand against mine feels like my own. When his breath on my skin warms like my own. It's the noise we make when being perfectly quiet." And he'll then continue to kick the shit out of them.

He realises that there's one thing neither of his three fathers could have ever truly taught him—how to fall in love.

--

_When it's so silen__t but the touch is just as loud_

_When his hand against yours melts with your own_

_When his breath on your skin warms like your own_

_It's the noise you make when being perfectly quiet_

**--**

**AN: Well, I used those sentences before, I think—and I'll probably continue to use them in the future. But I still don't know if I set the mood right -- So, let me know by pushing the darling review button!**


End file.
